By the Grace of a Dreary Day
by Amledo
Summary: Watson wakes with an old injury complaining, but he was supposed to accompany Holmes on a case. Holmes seems fine with this, but what will he bring with him on his return? Much sappier and fluffier than I make it sound. Holmes/Watson


(A/N: Okay, so I haven't done much in the Classic!Holmes fandom, at least that I have posted. So I thought I would give you lot a little bit of a sappy Holmes/Watson fic. I don't own anything. On with the show!)

By the Grace of a Dreary Day

John Watson, physician, retired military, semi-retired he supposed, had woken to a miserably dreary day. He felt it at once in the shoulder that had been shattered by a bullet in the war. The entire limb had stiffened overnight and he had regretted his sleeping position until he had glimpsed the weather. Whatever the case, he was in no shape to accompany Holmes on his investigation, and that was disheartening. Holmes had seemed so bright eyed and determined that they go together that the Consulting Detective had sent both of them to bed early.

Now as Watson fumbled his way into his dressing gown it stabbed at his heart to think he may send Holmes into one of his black moods. He was astounded to be met on the stairs by the taller man. Holmes was already dressed; he did not seem to be planning to conduct his investigation in disguise. Watson's treacherous mind couldn't help but note the shapely fit of the suit jacket around his companion's all too slender waist. When a strong but slim arm took him by the elbow the Doctor came back to himself. He shook his head and allowed himself to be escorted down to the sitting room.

It was obvious judging by the state of the breakfast service that Holmes had already partaken. The eggs and toast were disappointingly cold, but the tea was piping hot and it seemed Holmes was content to wait until Watson's stomach was satisfied. All the while the Consulting Detective's brilliant grey eyes were taking in the details, observing the small twitches of pain and the deliberate slowness of any motion that involved the shifting of a certain shoulder.

"You must understand my dear Watson. I cannot in good conscience bring you with me today. No, it wouldn't do at all. The weather has affected you most terribly. I shall inform Mrs. Hudson that you are in need of a hot towel to soothe your complaint. Do not wait up for me good fellow, I fear that this shall take all day," Holmes said in what felt like a single breath. Watson was used to it after 7 long years of sharing lodgings with the other man, but his relief at seeing Holmes handling the news so well was all that mattered to him. He bid the younger man a good day, a safe day and attempted to bury himself in his writings.

Hours and several hot towels later Watson gave up writing as a bad job for the day, tucked into an early dinner, and was on his way to bed. He did not feel bad that he had lain about the entire day in his dressing gown, but did spare a pained thought for not being there with Holmes. No doubt there would be a well told account of the happenings of his investigation ready the moment Watson asked, but being along for the ride was so much more thrilling.

He awoke well before dawn and knew at once that something had disturbed him. As his eyes adjusted he noted that a candle was burning on his night table and guessed the reason it was there. Holmes sat, disheveled in a chair beside his bed, half asleep with his collar gone, shirt-sleeves rolled up, braces gone and shirt pulled out of his trousers. The Doctor in Watson observed the bruised face critically and sighed at scuffed knuckles. After a long moment, Holmes seemed to return to himself and smiled dully at his concerned companion.

"I thought you might wish to know that I had returned. With the state you were in earlier, I had no wish to cause you protracted concern. It seems that your sleep has been fitful, though perhaps I flatter myself to think that it was out of concern for me and not due to that arm of yours," Holmes said and for a brief moment a thrill of confusion went through Watson's chest. Then his face softened and he sat up slowly, placing his feet on the floor, noting that his bare toes were mere inches from his friend's stocking feet.

"Holmes…you look dreadful, and I am your first concern? Let me patch you up dear boy," Watson said and slid his medical bag from under his bed. But Holmes, all long fingers and strong hands was stopping him. With a shake of his head, the pale man pressed the Doctor back into the pillows and sighed.

"I came here because after a trying day, your concern warms my heart and soul so thoroughly as to chase away the misery of a dreary day. I will tend to my own injuries. You still favor your shoulder. Ah, yes, here, I have brought you something for it," Holmes said and held out a small jar of ointment. Watson eyed the jar with its Oriental appearance and the strong scent of the shipyard but had no doubts that it would help.

"I thank you Holmes, I do however insist on sorting out your knuckles at the very least. They have a look of infection already judging by the redness surrounding them," Watson said as he gingerly took the jar from his friend's hand and examined the wounds for himself. With the tips of his fingers supporting the palm of Holmes's hand he lightly tested the injury with the pad of his thumb and winced at the heat that radiated from the wound. He did not notice the way Holmes sat transfixed, breath held in his chest, eyes fixed desperately on the point of contact.

"Watson…" Holmes spoke in a strangled whisper and the Doctor blinked up at him. Only then did Watson realize his position, face bent close in examination his lips were a scant few inches from stained fingers. Heat rose in his cheeks and he leant back clearing his throat.

"Excuse me Holmes…just checking your wounds…the infection isn't bad. It is odorless at least…erm…we should still bandage it though," Watson said gruffly, his flush infecting his voice and making it damnably obvious to someone with skills such as Holmes possessed that the inspection was a façade. He was rarely so poorly in control, but seeing Holmes in such a state after spending a day in worry had undone him.

"Quite right, and I will, after we take care of that shoulder," Holmes did not mention that Watson had not dropped his hand but momentarily indulged in that warmth before placing it gently in Watson's lap. He blushed brilliantly when the Doctor looked into his eyes. "If you don't mind, remove your night shirt from your shoulder and we shall get this taken care of," the younger man whispered, cursing his own flustered state.

It was impossible not to watch. The once confident hands that trembled and quaked until Holmes pulled them away and went to work on the buttons himself. Watson did not protest but Holmes felt the wretched sense of inadequacy that radiated from the shorter man. He indulged in a sense of forbidden contact as he gently ran his fingers over the remnants of the wound that had nearly taken the life of such a spectacular man. Of course he covered up his dalliance with the guise of searching for swelling, but he almost hoped that Watson would catch him.

Reclaiming the jar of ointment he slid from his chair into a more practical position on the edge of the bed, his thigh pressed against Watson's. Somehow it lacked the innocence of such a contact had it been in a hansom or at the theatre.

Watson's eyes slid closed the moment he felt those long delicate fingers begin their task. He knew nothing of the characters on the jar, but knew that Holmes did and determined that the ointment was only effective if thoroughly rubbed into the affected area. It was a chore, biting back sighs of pure delight and sinful pleasure as those most admired fingers trailed warmth over his flesh. And almost at once the pain began to fade and the relief was dizzying.

At some point, lost in a haze of comfort, he had leaned back. Those soothing fingers had long since stilled and he reclined, robed in a sense of warmth and contentment. He became slowly aware of the fact that he was not resting against pillows but something warm and a bit bony. With a silted eye he noticed an arm wrapped securely across his chest and another just below his ribs. He closed his eye and pretended that such a thing were allowed, that it could be permitted to happen, indeed that it had a hope at all.

"You play poorly at sleep my dear Watson. Do I discomfort you?" Holmes asked, his voice a gentle whisper sending a wave of heat over the flesh of Watson's neck, those arms did not move in the least. Watson himself did not move, but relaxed some of the tension that had built in his body as fear of being accused of something ebbed away.

"Not at all, in point of fact that is quite the problem. You are very comfortable. I shall be sorely tempted to keep you here…" Watson whispered, his eyes remaining closed.

"That would be most unwise," Holmes voice did terrible things to Watson's mind even as it broke his heart. "Your bed is much too small for the both of us. Mine is bigger," that devilish voice now smiled in his ear and his heart fluttered as long fingers trailed across his chest the lie over it. Surely he had slipped into a dream and would awake disappointed.

Almost without thinking, and having accepted his state of dreaming, Watson turned over and lie with his chest pressed against Holmes's. He met hypnotic grey eyes and swallowed thickly as those hands moved to encircle him once again. There was a silent tension between them, a sense of waiting that seemed to be controlled entirely by the beating of their hearts.

And their hearts were magnets of opposite polarities.

The first hesitant touch of lips was soft and dry, a shy chaste contact. Watson suddenly felt like a schoolboy again, experiencing that first kiss where one was not sure how to return it, and yet the awkwardness did not linger. He allowed one hand to cup the side of Holmes's face as he felt delicate fingers bury themselves in his hair. Desperate tears began to pour down his cheeks as he kissed the other man with more and more passion and at every turn felt it given back willingly. He was dreaming and it was beautiful and perfect and he never wanted to let it go.

Too soon they were pulling back and Holmes was brushing the tears from Watson's face, kissing flushed cheeks with utter softness.

"Why do you cry Watson?"

"Because I have waited…waited so long for this. In my restless dreams and my waking hours I have longed for you. I wanted you to know, needed you to know that I love you. And I expect that when I wake up tomorrow morning, I will be cold and alone in my own bed," Watson admitted, he had done so in other dreams and it seemed reasonable to again. What he didn't expect was the rage that darkened his companion's eyes or the way those slim powerful arms tightened around him. Such a thing had never happened before.

"If you think, for one second, John Watson, that I will go another day sleeping alone, you are sorely mistaken. You think I avoid my bed entirely too much, and if I do it is because you are not in it. If the vices that occupy my idle hands hurt you, then you have but to reach out and take them in your own. I will until the end of my days, and long after as well, strive to keep you happy," Holmes swore and sealed it with a kiss that left Watson free of any doubt about his wakefulness. He knew that Holmes had just told him that he loved him, and felt close to bursting with the joy of it.

The sun was peeking over the horizon, stirring Watson from the comforting trappings of sleep. He sighed at the softness of a bare chest pressed against his own and allowed his head to rest in the hollow of Holmes's throat. The scent of chemicals and pipe smoke lingered on bare skin, and it smelt just like home.

"Good morning Watson," Holmes whispered as a kiss was dropped onto the Doctor's messy hair. He knew that he had to leave that warmth soon, Mrs. Hudson would be up before too long and it would not do for them to let her catch them. They had become criminals as well as sinners, and yet 7 years of hard labor seemed paltry against a lifetime of affection.

"Good morning Holmes," Watson replied and lifted himself from the clutches of his lover's strong arms. He gently traced Sherlock's stubble-covered jaw and placed a kiss against softly parted lips. They both departed the room shortly after and took up places in opposite chairs in the sitting room. When Mrs. Hudson brought up the breakfast service she noted with mild amusement that she must have mixed up their dressing gowns in the wash. But as neither man seemed troubled by it, she let it pass unmentioned, thinking to silently swap them back the next time she did the washing. Only when her foot touched the 13th step did she realize that it hadn't been her mistake, Dr. Watson had worn his proper robe the entirety of the previous day.

With a glance over her shoulder a faint smile touched her lips. Those two men were as stubborn as mules and Holmes scared her half to death some days, but she was delighted by the prospect of never having to look for a new set of lodgers. Bachelors indeed. Her smile broadened as she thought of her son living on the Continent with his own young man.

Back upstairs Holmes heard the pause of their Landlady's footsteps and a small but smug smile drew across his lips. Watson paused in sipping his tea and stared at a hole in the sleeve of his dressing gown that had not been there the previous day. Glancing down at himself he understood that it was not his own.

"Holmes, what have you done?" Watson asked, trying not to smile in response to the expression worn by his lover.

"Only come to a very satisfying conclusion in my experiment, though I expected her to make it to at least the 16th. You may have your dressing gown back if you like," Holmes replied gently but Watson shook his head and lightly inhaled the scent of tobacco and some unnamable chemical.

"This one is quite comfortable," came Watson's conclusion and Holmes's smile was brilliant.

"Indeed it is," the younger man stated and returned to his breakfast.

(A/N: Well folks, what did we think? And I don't care if you think I am a dirty twisted sinner. Since I am. Anyway, a review is appreciated. Until next time!)


End file.
